[i]2 days later...[/i] 

Despite the Dunmer's words, no pursuit had followed. Perhaps it was because they were far too busy with their own problems further inland, or perhaps they could not follow quickly enough to catch up. Either way, the Nords were fine sailors and had dropped Kris and Dax off on the western half of the White River not hours ago. 

The wind howled like a haunting aberration. It bit the skin, and even the trees looked as if they had been cut into. Dax growled low in his throat, their current predicament unrelentingly poor to his sensibilities. He imagined Kris and other humans would at least consider the landscape beautiful, but to the Argonian it was a white hell. The fact that snow was simply soft water was small measure of comfort to the reptilian. Had he not been clad in a dark cloak of thick wool, he would have found it unbearable. 

Horses whinnied from within the stables as they passed. The fighter wondered how he could hear any noises through the gale they were in and noted the information for later. Ever the hunter, he looked for any edge in combat in every circumstance. Most were unnerved by his manner and cold look, but Kris seemed to not mind. The only thing she likely cared about was his lashing tail that had a tendency to trip her up if she walked too close, and in the snow that reached halfway to one's knees, Kris was near enough to touch his shoulder. 

Daixanos' booted feet touched something hard beneath, and he looked up to see he had bumped into the first step on a small stairway that led to the gate of Windhelm. Even through the weather, he could see a massive mammoth's skull hung over the enormous, powerful gates. Daixanos exerted himself further, as much as he wanted to lie down and accept slipping into a frozen coma. Stepping up, he heard a distant voice above them crying out. "Two at the gates! Cloaked and hooded!" 

[i]Of course we are, we're freezing to death[/i] Dax thought, but he merely grunted irritably. Shuffling, he crested the top of the stairway and saw the doors to the city creeping open. He could see nothing past the gates, save the silhouettes of buildings and four figures awaiting them inside. Daixanos wasn't perturbed and continued to march forward, revealing the figures to be four, burly nords in mail armor. They bore shields with the sign of the bear, and longswords held easily in their off hands. Beards flecked with snow seemed grown out of their steel helms. 

"Who are you, travelers?" A heavy voice asked, piercing the flying snow. "Answer or face the wrath of the Stormcloaks."